The Ties That Bind
by S-o-u-n-d Showers
Summary: Shikamaru and Ino cast their sails and do not look back. They will learn many things in their lifetime, but perhaps most importantly, they will learn the differences between lovers and almost-lovers. Essentially, ShikaTem (despite my being a ShikaIno fan). Contains lots of angst, lots and lots of angst. Rated T for like, one swear word.


**N: **This is intended to take place sometime after Asuma's death. Though I am a ShikaIno shipper, my main intent with this particular piece was to convey the distance that is beginning to come between them, drawing them further apart. I pictured Shikamaru already having feelings for Temari, and Ino, having seen him with her, slowly started to move on. So I feel that in this fanfiction, Shikamaru is torn between keeping his possible future with Ino, and trying to figure out where he stands with Temari. Anyways, hope that wasn't too confusing! All I can say is that I had fun with this one, despite it being rather angsty and essentially, ShikaTema. Review please?

**D: **I do not own Naruto. Naruto belongs to Kishimoto, the lucky bastard.

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><p><strong>Word Count: 1,606<strong>

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><p>The typically harsh sounds of a door slamming didn't even faze the man reclining lazily in the alleyway behind the Hokage's office where the nin of Konoha were currently gathered. This particular meeting was over, the man knew, and everyone else was socializing the night away. He didn't feel in the mood, though. He'd sat through the mandatory part of the briefing and figured that his presence was no longer required for anything more. Slipping a hand into his pocket, the man pulled out a pack of cigarettes and bent to light one. He breathed in deeply, letting the smoke sting and burn, but didn't cough. He let it scratch his throat until it was raw. Exhaling slowly, he closed his eyes and leaned back against the dirty wall behind him, not caring if his dark hair and ANBU garb were going to get filthy. His clothes -especially his pants- were beyond salvation.<p>

But the closed-off alley was too good a hiding spot to pass up. Anything was better than being inside. He needed this solitude to think. The area was narrow and obstructed by a tall, rusted gate. A thin strip of clear blue sky was visible between the two buildings and, despite the filth, it didn't smell too horrible. There were no trash bins or cardboard boxes that stank of urine, no scantily clad women tugging at his clothes and whispering their poison into his ears, just dirt. Taking another drag of his cigarette, the man prided himself on having found such a place- it had, after all, been a bit of a struggle to scale the gates. He cast thoughtful grey eyes dow at the once-white bandages binding his ankle. The injury still left him with a slight limp, and he sighed deeply, cursing his luck.

The door that had previously been thrust ajar, was the very same door he'd exited the building through some thirty minutes ago. It was beyond the gate, but in clear view from where he was sprawled. He ignored the disturbance at first, but when loud, angry, footfalls grew nearer and nearer, he turned his head only to see the one person he knew would trouble him most. It was a young woman, tall and self-assured, standing with her back very straight, her long, flaxen-colored ponytail blowing gracefully in the slight wind. Her clothes, so drastically different from his own, were purple in colour and enveloped the curves of her slender frame, milky-white limbs appearing seemingly endless as she stormed forward. But the man in the alley noticed not her attire, rather her posture; he saw how tensely she was standing. For a moment, she looked as if she were about to sigh, release the rigidness in her body, close her eyes, and relax.

Then she caught sight of him, and her startlingly blue eyes flashed as if someone had just waved a firecracker in front of her. With an expression sharper than the kunai strapped to her waist, she whirled over to the gates, and glared at him. "You're a fool, Shikamaru," she hissed coldly. "That's a foul habit to get into."

"You should try it," said Shikamaru. He twirled the cigarette idly between his fingers. "I heard it makes you loose weight." His voice was flat despite the unusually vicious remark.

Her glare became more intense, and she rested her hands on her hips haughtily. "I loose weight the _right_ way." There was a considerable amount of venom on the words "right".

"Yeah, you know starving yourself isn't really the 'right' way." His tone was strained and increasingly irritated.

For a fleeting second, Ino looked as though he had driven a blade straight through her heart. There was evident disbelief on her heart-shaped face and her shoulders sagged with the realization of his cutting words. Then she met his gaze, and the moment was gone. In her pale face there was only unwavering rage, a look he had never been given before.

"_Fuck_ you."

Smirking at himself, Shikamaru stood and glided over to the iron bars that separated them, wrapping his fingers around the iron and leaning forward. His softly smoking cigarette was still cinched between two of his fingers.

But Ino did not flinch at his sudden proximity. If anything, it felt as if she somehow came closer, her hands resting on the bars below his own. She stood poised and still, the wind tugging at her silken hair so that soft tendrils of it brushed across Shikamaru's cheeks. Their faces were mere inches apart. He felt her breath tickle his skin and he knew she could feel his, too, by the way her nose wrinkled at the smoke. Her eyes narrowed, yet she stood her ground.

"What is it, Shikamaru?," she asked bitterly. "Are you guilty? Jealous? Why do you do this?" Ino's hatred burned through the iron divider, and he felt a snarl escape his lips. Why did she care? Why bother thinking of him when she allowed Sai to run his hands across the velvet of her skin? Was he jealous? Shikamaru hurled aside the memory of Ino's gentle smile, her melodious laughter; willing a new face to appear. Emerald green eyes, as deep as the forests of Konoha, set within a proudly beautiful face. The sensation of her muted gold hair tangled loosely within his hands... Of lips that tasted like summer, soft and yet not so. Like sand. No, he decided, it was not jealousy, then.

Answering her question, Shikamaru spat; "The same reason you do." He watched, with some satisfaction, as it became her turn to fantasize, a similar look of heated contemplation gracing her features. "What made you come out here? Perhaps you realize that these days- these meetings- remind me of the one thing I lost, that which causes me the most pain and remorse." Shikamaru gripped her wrist tightly, earning him a small gasp of pain from Ino, who tried to wrench her hand away.

"Perhaps you can allow me to avoid that hell as much as possible. If however, you make a mess of things, I will be here. I won't let my emotions and personal life stand in the way of what is required of me, as troublesome as that is."

"The one thing you lost?" Repeated Ino incredulously, her voice scathing and mocking. "What about Chouji and I? We lost the same damn things you did and the truth is, we all miss Asuma-sensei! Not a day goes by where I don't wish he were here, you audacious bastard!" She paused for breath, eyes glittering in pain and anger. "Don't you dare go bearing this burden like it's all your own!"

The tense silence that stretched between them felt anything but noiseless. Shikamaru was highly aware of his hand around Ino's wrist. He almost heard a ringing in his ears as he glared at her, too angry to be kind, yet too intoxicated by her closeness, the scent of her hair as it caught in the wind, the fierceness in her familiar eyes, and he let the cigarette in his hands burn even lower, the smoke rising in a delicate spiral between their mirrored faces.

"It wasn't Asuma I lost." He hissed, tossing aside the cigarette and crushing it with his heel. "It was you, Ino. It was always you."

The shock on her face was as clear as the sky above them. If there had been a way for him to walk away, to leave her with just his words and her thoughts, Shikamaru would have done so, but they were both trapped by the gates, so he remained there, silent and enduring. He half-expected her to slap him, but with her face so close to his own, all he could think about was the taste her lips would allow- lips he hadn't felt for so long, yet remembered so very well.

It was only when he looked at her eyes that Shikamaru remembered the distance that had stretched between them. No matter how fast he ran, he could never catch her; the space kept growing larger. Standing there, frozen, he thought there was a second when she, too, might have stopped moving. Ino's face softened, her eyes cooled, and her wrist fell loosely from his grasp.

But the moment passed before he had time to close the gap. She didn't slap him, spit at him, and- though he hadn't expected her to do so- she didn't kiss him. Ino simply turned on her heel and left, flying through the doors she'd so recently passed out of. This time he flinched when the doors were slammed shut. It made a sound like a gunshot in his head, resonating around him like an echo that refused to fade. Shikamaru considered climbing over the gates, chasing after her, forcing her to see sense. But she was too detached, too unattainable, too far gone. And so was he. It was simply no use.

Taking a few steps back, he leaned wearily against the wall, closing his eyes. He didn't pull out another cigarette, the one he'd not yet finished still smouldering on the ground some distance away. With a final sigh of exhaustion, Shikamaru slid back down to the ground where he remained until the evening was truly over. Like every year, he could only hope that a time would come when he didn't need to light another cigarette.


End file.
